Bleeding Truth
by bookowl
Summary: Merlin is outed as a sorcerer and Arthur reacts violently. The Prince then tries to move on with his life but Merlin appears everywhere he turns.
1. Chapter 1

Merlin closed his eyes and fell to his knees. He had seen the fury and betrayal in Arthur's eyes. He knew the evidence was damning. The enormous frog creature lay smoking where it had fallen, blasted by golden lightning bolts from Merlin's hands. He had panicked- Arthur had fallen, smashed by the creature's tail into a nearby tree, sword flying in the opposite direction.

He hadn't moved.

The prince's voice from his training sessions had flashed across the sorcerer's mind – _once you're down Merlin, you're dead! _And Merlin had reacted, standing over Arthur and whispering the sibilant words that would seal his fate. Now he had the luxury of hindsight, Merlin thought ruefully that he could have been slightly less dramatic. Subtlety had never been his strong point.

He bowed his head as the sound of the Prince striding towards him crackled through the leaves. There would be no leniency. He had seen it- the hatred that had scythed across Arthur's face as Merlin had offered him his hand, the prince's defensive posture as his eyes had searched for his sword on the ground. Arthur would not forgive him this betrayal.

The _shring _of a dagger being unsheathed in the silence made him flinch. So many times he had imagined this moment – he had dreamed of Arthur saying it didn't matter, that he forgave him, that he trusted him anyway, but always knew it could not be. Uther's teachings were too deeply ingrained, the betrayal too personal. The cool feel of the blade against his neck made him clench his eyes tighter, holding his breath for the pain that would come. But it will be over quickly, he told himself desperately. Arthur was too noble a man –too _good _a man – to let anyone suffer needlessly, even a friend-turned-traitor. Or so Merlin hoped.

He should beg for his life, try to explain, tell Arthur that it was for him, always for him. But he froze, terrified, and could only wait for the axe to fall.

The blade was removed, the whoosh of the air as it came down a sudden shriek. The pain exploded, and Merlin screamed as the blade went through skin, pierced through flesh. It went on and on, searing through nerves, the lick of flames in the bleeding tissue. But...shouldn't it have stopped? And it wasn't... Merlin's hand flew to his face, feeling the bone-deep cut. The blood gushed between his fingers, the slice downwards across his cheek. His eyes flew open in confusion.

Arthur was staring at him coldly, the dagger in his hand still dripping blood. _My blood, _thought Merlin hysterically. The drip drip of the liquid against the dry leaves of the forest was strangely mesmerising.

"I don't..." he whispered. Was he?

Arthur snarled.

"You saved my life, _sorcerer, _" he spat. "I cannot honourably repay that act with death. But you remain a traitor to this kingdom. As an act of grace, you have from now to get out of Camelot's borders. I will be informing my father on my return, of your... betrayal."

"Arthur, I..." Merlin tried.

Arthur backhanded him across the face. Merlin fell backwards, the impact against his bleeding wound causing new waves of pain to scream across his face. He breathed shallowly, fighting unconsciousness. He had to make him understand...

"Silence, traitor. I have heard enough of your lies. You have a day."

And Arthur spun on his heel, gathered up the reins of his horse and left.

He _left _.

Merlin had lost his chance.

Ignoring the blood still streaming from his burning cut, Merlin curled up on his side and wept.

* * *

Arthur was furious. Everyone scrambled to get out of his way as he stormed through the castle, slamming doors as he went. He burst into his quarters and threw himself into his chair, staring broodingly at the empty fireplace. Merlin had obviously forgotten to refill the log box before....

_Damnit! _Not Merlin. The sorcerer. The traitor. The first true friend that never was.

Arthur smashed his hand on his table and something clanged. It was only then he realised he was still clutching the dagger, Mer...the sorcerer's blood still dried on the handle. _No wonder everyone ran away from me, _he thought distractedly. He continued to stare at the blood. The reddish-iron flakes were beginning to curl at the tip.

Arthur's stomach clenched. He had hurt Merlin. Badly. He would carry the scar for the rest of his life, regardless of whether it became infected. _But he lied to you! _his mind screamed. _He was never who you thought he was! _

Merlin was a sorcerer. He was a servant. He cared for Arthur, made him laugh, smiled at him. He lied to him, betrayed him, made a mockery of their friendship. He had drunk poison for Arthur. He was afraid of and scarred by Arthur.

The Prince's insides were a roiling mass of hurt, pain and anger. He was still staring at the dagger when someone knocked on his door.

"Enter," he said, not lifting his eyes.

Gaius came through the door and stood before the Prince. Arthur's eyes went flat again as he raised his gaze to stare at the old physician.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord," Gaius said. "I was wondering if you knew where Merlin was."

Arthur rose to his feet, fury making his body a tight bowstring. The bloody dagger was still clutched in his hand and Gaius's eyes flicked to the blade, concerned.

"Did you know?" Arthur demanded.

A flash of fear across Gaius's face was all the confirmation Arthur needed. The physician's expression quickly settled into neutral, but it was too late. "I'm sorry?"

"You did." Arthur pinched his nose, all of a sudden excessively weary. He turned away from the old physician and leaned against his table. "I am surrounded by traitors, it seems."

All the colour drained from Gaius's face as his gaze returned to the bloody dagger, still clenched in the prince's hand.

"My lord? Please, where is Merlin?" the physician asked desperately, hoping he was wrong, that this was a mistake, that Merlin had just insulted the wrong person again and would bounce through the door any minute, all silly smiles and explanations.

The Prince finally dropped the dagger onto the table, and the _clang _echoed loudly in the silence. Gaius flinched. Without turning, Arthur leaned forward so his arms rested on the surface, his back a tight curve of tension. His voice, when he spoke, was cold.

"Merlin won't be coming back."

Gaius closed his eyes in pain. His boy, his son in all but name...for the first time, Gaius felt the weight of age on his shoulders. He felt hollow and old.

"Leave, Gaius," Arthur said harshly. The physician bowed his head, swallowed his tears and left to mourn alone in his empty chambers.

Arthur didn't tell his father. He wasn't sure why - he didn't owe Merlin anything. But the last image of his servant, curled on his side sobbing, tears and blood trailing down his face, was seared behind Arthur's eyelids. He tried to banish it with the anger at Merlin's betrayal, still curled tightly beneath his breastbone.

"And where has your useless servant gone, Arthur?" his father asked pleasantly at one of their evening meals. "He's usually stuck to you like a burr."

Arthur raised his eyes from where he had been staring at his food for the last half hour.

"I sacked him," Arthur lied easily. He could feel the sudden burn of Morgana's glare from across the table. God, she was going to be insufferable. "I got sick of his incompetence. He has returned to Ealdor."

His father started. "That is...unexpected," Uther said slowly. "You two appeared attached at the hip. Did he do anything in particular?"

Arthur tried to quieten the bile that had risen his throat. _Why was he lying for him? _

"He was just a servant father. Why does he matter?" Arthur shrugged, pretending nonchalance. His father smiled in approval and Morgana looked at him in disgust.

"I am glad you are finally learning their place, Arthur. Have you reassigned another manservant yet?"

"I am considering several candidates Father," Arthur prevaricated. "I am aiming for more competence this time."

"Very good," was all Uther said, before dismissing the topic and turning the conversation to negotiations with Mercia.

Morgana accosted Arthur after the meal, grabbing his wrist before he could escape.

"What have you done to Merlin?" she hissed. "He would never leave without saying goodbye."

Arthur shook his hand free roughly and moved to go. Morgana - _stubborn wench! _- stepped in his path again.

"And if it was nothing, why does Gaius looks likes he has aged 10 years?" she persisted. "And you've sacked him what, 3 times already? He never left then. He loves you too much." Her tone clearly showed what she thought of that.

All the anger boiling inside Arthur rose to the forefront and he slammed the wall next to her head with his hand, leaning in close and pinning her with his gaze and body. Even Morgana had to shrink back a little at the fire in his glare.

"Your precious Merlin was a liar and a traitor," Arthur growled in her face. Flecks of spittle flew out of his mouth as he hissed the words. "Camelot is well rid of him!"

And he stormed off towards his chambers, leaving a shocked Morgana staring after him. He only wished he could quieten the ball of grief and guilt within him so easily.

All in all, it was a month before Arthur decided to face hiring a new manservant. The armourer had been dropping hints for days that he could do without the Prince's chores, and the different servants every day were grating on his nerves. He finally settled on a quiet, younger boy with sandy hair from one of the outlying villages. The boy had only joined the servants recently, so didn't know anything about Merlin - the castle servants kept stopping him in the passageways, inquiring after the boy's health and where he was. Did _everyone _like Merlin? - and with his blonde hair and greenish eyes he was nothing like Arthur's former servant.

Arthur made it clear from the outset that all he required was service. The boy - Randy, Randolph, Rudy or something - understood his duties quickly. He was a ghost in the room, cleaning the chambers and dressing Arthur with no more than the occasional 'Sire' or 'My Lord.' Deep down, Arthur missed the chatter and banter that had existed between him and Merlin. He missed a lot of things. The surly backchat. The blinding smiles given solely to Arthur. The trust. The loyalty. A quiet part of Arthur found it hard to believe it had all been a lie.

The dagger remained uncleaned. Arthur had snarled at the boy when he had tried to take it away from servicing and he had flinched back _(so unlike Merlin.) _At night sometimes Arthur would stare at it, the dried blood the only evidence of Merlin's perfidy. He wondered where the boy was. Whether he was still alive, the nights getting colder and harsher by the day. Why he still cared so much, his heart clenching at the thought of Merlin, injured and alone in the snow. _A spell no doubt. _

But he knew it wasn't true.

The first attack happened when he and -Rolph, that was it - were en route to one of the outlying villages. Arthur had sent the knights on ahead to prepare camp while he hunted, and ordered Rolph to accompany him to carry the game.

He had just sighted on a prize elk when he felt a strong shove in the back, making him stumble forwards and the elk to take flight. Furious, he turned on his servant to give him the tongue lashing he deserved and faltered, the words dying in his mouth. Rolph was curled on his side on the ground, an arrow lodged in his right shoulder. An arrow meant for Arthur.

_Merlin, curled on his side, the blood from his face dripping on the leaves... _

Arthur seized his sword and ran towards the arrow's origin. The archer turned out to be an angry villager whose daughter had been killed on suspicion of magic _(it was always magic wasn't it?) _The man's furious tears and clumsy attacks were easily halted as Arthur knocked him out with one blow to the head. He didn't have time for him right now.

Rolph lay where Arthur had left him, his eyes clenched in pain. The Prince knelt beside him and checked the wound gently.

"You're lucky," he told the boy brusquely, hiding his concern. "The exit wound is clear. Now this is going to hurt," as he took hold of the back of the arrow and snapped it. Rolph cried out, and Arthur's eyes blurred in sympathy, the boy's hair appearing almost brown. Arthur shook his head to clear it and took hold of the shaft.

"Are you ready?" he asked the boy. Rolph nodded, eyes still clenched shut. Arthur counted to three and then pulled the arrow through the wound in one long pull. Rolph screamed as the arrow came out and then his eyes rolled up as he fainted.

Arthur quickly ripped a strip off the servant's shirt and used it to bind the wound. As he moved to lift the boy he noticed a bleeding strip on his face where he must have impacted with something on the ground. It would need to be cleaned, but Arthur dismissed it as he carried him to his horse. The arrow wound was the more pressing concern.

But by the time they reached camp the cut was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur had rarely been touched.

As Crown Prince, a distance was kept from even the closest of his knights - they only touched during training, the brief brush of bodies, the impact of blows against flesh. Their only contact was for training in battle.

His father had rarely shown physical affection, even when Arthur was a child. Uther was the King; the respect and distance required of a sovereign and his subject took precedence over the bond between father and son. Arthur could barely remember a time when his Father had gripped his shoulder in affection. His father loved him, Arthur had no doubts about that, but every conversation and every dinner was now a testing of Arthur's ability to rule.

Enemies of the kingdom had tried their best to kill him. Blades and fists had made their marks upon his body, telling their story in the criss-cross of their scars. Arthur had grasped the hands of his knights as they died, closed the eyes of slaughtered villagers and carried the screaming wounded in the process of battle. He had never blinked.

Servants had always kept their distance. Their obeisance to the Crown Prince meant even when dressing him or lacing his armour they made as little contact as possible, hands touching clothing but always being careful not to touch flesh.

The Crown Prince was the one who was touched. Arthur was forgotten, buried beneath the trappings of power and responsibility.

Then Merlin had bounded into his life and changed all that.

The boy had had no idea of what was proper. From grabbing Arthur's arm, to swatting his head, to going for a hug - _a hug! _What did he think Arthur was, a girl? - Merlin had not only bypassed but shattered the invisible line always drawn between the Crown Prince and his subjects. He only acknowledged the presence of _Arthur _- contributing a great deal to his familiarity with the stocks, Arthur thought dryly - and treated him the same as any other, being as tactile as possible in showing his affection, irritation and loyalty. In hindsight, with the way Merlin broadcasted his every emotion and reaction through his body language it was astonishing that Arthur had not realised his secret earlier.

Before Merlin, Arthur had never realised the only time he was touched was for the purpose of war and pain.

All this ran through Arthur's head as half supporting Rolph with his arm, he rapped on Gaius's door and waited. It was a while before he heard the old physician's shuffling footsteps.

"Your Highness," Gaius said wearily upon opening the door. He did everything wearily these days, Merlin's loss etched deep into the lines on his face. His gaze sharpened as the Prince brought Rolph forwards.

"Put him by the table," Gaius instructed. He limped over to the side of the chair as Arthur boosted Rolph into a sitting position. The boy was pale, breath coming in little gasps as every movement jarred his injured shoulder. Arthur laid a comforting hand on his good arm as Gaius peeled back the makeshift bandage.

_"Still alive then?" he had asked. "Just about," replied Merlin, cheeky grin on his face._

Enough! Rolph grunted in protest as Arthur's fingers clenched too hard and the prince jerked back as if burned. He cursed his traitorous mind as he turned away and threw himself in the other remaining chair, staring at the two without seeing. The familiar scene was dragging up thoughts Arthur had tried desperately to forget.

Rolph hissed and flinched as Gaius's fingers probed the wound. The prince continued to brood quietly from his chair as Gaius re-wrapped the shoulder with a fresh poultice and tied it off tightly.

"The treatment you gave him was good- there appears to be no sign of infection," Gaius said to Arthur. "And you boy – you should not use that arm for a number of weeks, and any sign of redness or fluid and I want you to come straight to me, you understand?"

Rolph nodded dutifully and closed his eyes. Arthur felt guilty at the exhausted pain on the boy's features. He was no knight-what he had done for Arthur was above and beyond the call of duty.

"I owe you a boon, Rolph," Arthur said carefully. The boy opened his eyes and looked at Arthur sharply. "If there is something you require that is within my power to give, you have earned it with your actions."

The boy looked nervous. He clenched his hands within his lap and opened and shut his mouth a few times before appearing to rethink it. He shook his head as he stared at the ground.

"What is it? I promise you can ask freely without fear of reprisal," Arthur said gently. "If it is something I am unable to give, I will tell you and there will be no consequences."

The boy seemed to struggle with himself for a minute before raising his eyes to Arthur's defiantly. "Will you answer a question?" he asked.

"If it is within my power," Arthur replied.

The sun through the window reflected off Rolph's eyes and for a second Arthur could have sworn they glowed gold. But then the boy blinked and the reflection – _was that what it was? _- was gone. He raised his chin bravely and his next words wiped any thought of odd lights from Arthur's mind.

"Did you kill your last servant, sire?"

__________________________________________________________________

Arthur froze. He felt more then heard Gaius's gasp behind him and the rattle as the old physician supported his suddenly shaking legs on a shelf.

_Merlin weeping on the forest floor, face obscured by the blood streaming from his wound. A wound by Arthur's hand… _

Rolph must have seen something in his eyes because he shrunk back in the chair as far as his wounded shoulder would allow. "I'm sorry my lord, its just the servants' talk, and I was so afraid, and you were so good to me…" he babbled fearfully. "I just wanted to know, I was afraid, please don't hurt me my lord please don't please…I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry…"

Arthur managed to raise his hand to stem the boy's flurried stream of apologies. The terror on the boys face struck a cold shard in his heart.

_Merlin, eyes closed as he waited for his lord – his friend – to kill him without a thought. _

**Is this who I am? **

"I said there would be no repercussions. You have nothing to fear from me," Arthur managed to choke from his frozen throat. The fear on the boy's face eased slightly, but Arthur saw the wariness now that had been behind those perfect bows, that quiet service. The castle servants' many questions about Merlin's whereabouts. He buried his face in his hands, knowing by the heavy silence that Gaius was waiting for his answer. _Was he really going to do this? _

"No," he said quietly, so quietly as not to be heard if the room had not been so deathly quiet. "I did not."

The silence was smothering. Arthur lifted his head from his hands and met Gaius's shocked eyes. The old physician was clutching at the robes above his heart.

"He betrayed me. He did something worthy of death." Arthur's gaze returned to Rolph, whose eyes were unreadable.

"But I did not kill him."

And Arthur rose and left the room. He pretended not to hear the joyous sobs from behind the door as he left.

Or the hint of satisfaction on Rolph's face as he turned away.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur was angry.

It was a feeling magnified by the fact he had no real target for his fury. He was angry at Merlin for being a liar and a sorcerer. He was angry at him for being his friend and at the tight serpent of guilt wrapped around Arthur's gut that was now his constant companion. He was angry at Rolph, for taking an arrow meant for Arthur- he was the knight, damnit! What was with these servants and taking blows meant for him?

_Merlin, drinking the poisoned cup meant for Arthur. Eyes meeting Arthur's trustfully before they rolled up and he fell limply to the floor… _

Arthur stubbornly ignored the voice in his head whispering that he would never have cared before. That servants were never people before.

Most of all, Arthur was angry at himself.

_Did you kill your last servant, sire?_

He grabbed up his sword and strode to the practice fields. He was momentarily disappointed when he saw they were empty, as he could have done with a handy knight to vent his frustrations on, but decided it was probably for the best. In his current state of mind goodness knows what he'd be delivering to Gaius afterwards.

God, Gaius. Therein lay another source of Arthur's fury.

He set up a training pell and started swinging, punctuating each of his thoughts with a heavy blow. Gaius had lied to him as well. Two of the most trusted people in Arthur's life, his manservant - _friend _-and his father's trusted advisor had never been who he thought they were. But Arthur had to acknowledge in the quiet, private part of his mind that what he had done to Gaius was unnecessarily cruel. He knew the physician had looked upon Merlin as the son he had never had. Merlin's betrayal had left Arthur hurting and like a wounded animal he had lashed out, indulging a selfish and dark desire for the old man to suffer the same crippling pain. Gaius had betrayed him, yes, but the betrayal was equal on both sides. The prince had attacked, wounded and banished the physician's soul-son, a boy that had been entrusted to Arthur's care. Entrusted to his protection. Who was the true liar there?

Arthur's head hurt.

The pell splintered under the increasing force of the prince's blows as he tried to drive his guilt and doubts away through brute force. Arthur huffed in irritation and went to set up another one, preparing himself for a long hard session. His head - _heart _-was far from settled.

_Did you kill your last servant, sire? _

Why had he let Merlin go? Why had he hurt him? Why had he trusted him, let him close, and believed in their friendship? Why was Merlin in Camelot in the first place? If he was evil, if he was plotting to overthrow Camelot – _to know the heart of one sorcerer is to know them all _- why had he protected Arthur, lied for Arthur, watched over Arthur when he was wounded, laughed and shared with him? Why had he said he believed Arthur would be a great King?

Why did Arthur care?

The thoughts chased each other round and round Arthur's head, spinning faster and faster as he worked at bludgeoning the pell into splinters. His head and heart warred with one another as his breath came faster and faster, blows harder and more powerful.

_Did you kill your last servant, sire? _

The pell split in two, cleaved through the centre by a massive overhead blow. Arthur stared at it, his chest heaving up and down with exertion and his sword held limply in his hand. His mind continued to boil, a mass of twisting snakes of emotion, reason and the beliefs he had always held as true. His thoughts were as murky as when he had left Gaius's chambers in the first place.

Arthur threw his sword away in disgust and gave up.

He did not sleep that night.

___________________________________________________________

It was two days before Rolph returned to work. Arthur came back from the practice fields to look for a forgotten gauntlet only to find the boy slowly collecting the prince's breakfast plates with one arm in a sling, balancing a tray precariously on one knee.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Arthur barked in astonishment in finding him there. He had expected the boy to be off work for a week at least.

Rolph jumped at the sound of the prince's voice. The tray and crockery went flying through the air as his knee jerked and he squawked and desperately tried to grab them out of the air with his good arm. The leftovers of an egg hit him in the eye as a plate upturned and the boy flailed desperately at the falling tray, but to no avail. The entire lot came crashing down around his feet, plates and glasses shattering of impact. A single saucer rolled its way to Arthur's foot.

Arthur gently put his foot on the plate to stop its progress and Rolph flinched. Arthur looked at him, taking in his hangdog expression and hunched-in shoulders. At the egg slowly dripping down his face as the boy stood in a circle of smashed crockery. It was the very picture of misery.

And he laughed. The sound was rusty, having been unused for the past month, but by God it was a laugh. The offended expression on Rolph's face as he guffawed was enough to set Arthur off again, holding his sides and bending over as he gasped for breath. The servant glared and the prince wiped tears of mirth from his eyes as he moved forward to clap Rolph on his good shoulder.

"I trust you will be cleaning this up?" he asked with an amused smirk. The boy nodded dumbly, and Arthur collected his gauntlet and headed for the exit, still chuckling.

"Honestly, the worst...almost the worst manservant I have ever seen," Arthur continued, pausing at the door. The boy looked at his feet and muttered something that sounded vaguely uncomplimentary as Arthur left. The Prince paused in the passageway, one hand still on the wall, before shaking his head and continuing back to the practice fields.

It had almost sounded like 'prat.'

_____________________________________________________________-

Things became easier after that, almost like some unnoticed weight had been lifted from the air. Rolph began to start talking as he cleaned Arthur's room; just little bits of servants' gossip, or asking Arthur about the progress this or that knight. And the prince, to his surprise, found he didn't mind. Rather, the inane chatter as Rolph collected the dishes or polished his armor seemed to release some of the tension tightly wound around (_his heart_) his muscles.

As the days turned into weeks and then into months an easy camaraderie began to grow. It would never approach what Arthur had shared with Merlin - the prince was too guarded and distrusting now to ever again overstep the barrier between master and servant.

But he didn't feel so alone.

One day Arthur was staring out his window, still dressed in armor from the patrol he had just returned from when Rolph entered his chambers. The servant immediately clucked in disapproval like an old housewife.

"Did you _try _to bring half the fields back in with you?" Rolph tutted.

Arthur turned around in astonishment. He almost expected to see a ridiculous red neck kerchief, brown hair standing on end from where hands had been dragged through it in frustration. The brown eyes would be glaring at him in disapproval, a tall gangly frame standing with his hands on his hips like a nagging fishwife. He blinked when faced by Rolph's blonde hair and shorter stature. The servant seemed to realize he'd made a mistake.

"...I mean, um sire," he tried.

Arthur shook his head in bemusement and moved forward, towering over the shorter servant.

"You really can't talk to me like that," he said in exasperation, staring down into sparkling green eyes.

_And how long have you been training to be a prat... my Lord? _

The servant seemed to see something in Arthur's face and a blinding grin crept across his face.

"But its good for you, Sire!" he returned cheekily.

Arthur swatted his head, not unkindly, and moved away. The boy continued bustling about the room, tidying up the weapons Arthur had dumped upon his return to his chambers.

"Here I thought I was getting a quiet and disciplined manservant," Arthur said, shaking his head in mock disgust as he watched Rolph clean. "Why is it always me who ends up with you recalcitrants?"

The servant paused from where he was gathering up Arthur's laundry and looked at the Prince. His eyes were dark (_ darker? _) and strangely serious.

"Because we're good for you, Sire," he repeated softly, before hoisting the washing into his arms and leaving the room.

He left Arthur staring after him.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur ran through the forest, heedless of the cruel sting of whipping branches in his face as he sped in pursuit. It wouldn't be his fault again. It _wouldn't. _

He leapt over a fallen log, stumbled on landing and straightened before redoubling his pace, breath rasping in his chest as he pushed himself further and faster. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he had to try. He was Prince Arthur, the most skilled and fearsome knight in Camelot. He could track a deer at night over dry rocks, he could spy out an ambush from 100 paces away, he could defend _himself! _And he could find a simple servant. He _would. _

There was no other acceptable option.

"Rolph!"

S********************************************************

(That morning)

"Another hunt, really?" Rolph looked incredulous. "Why not just paint a huge target on your head saying, 'I'm Prince Arthur, come and get me?' It would certainly save me the bother of lugging your bloody heavy hunting gear along with your fried crispy body after the next sorcerer is done with you."

"Why, Rolph!" Arthur drawled. "I had no idea you were so concerned about such a scenario. Hmm," he said, affecting a deeply thoughtful pose. "Now, I hear cleaning out the stables is good for building muscle strength. Perhaps you could try that once in a while, instead palming it off to the stable boys. Yes," he said to Rolph's sudden guilty look, "I know about that. Now, shouldn't you be getting my 'bloody heavy hunting gear' ready? The King commands roast for the banquet tomorrow and we'd best leave as soon as possible."

Rolph muttered something about "Royal prats sticking their princely noses where they don't belong," and stomped off grumpily, slamming the door to Arthur's chambers as he went. The Prince smiled and stretched slowly. It was going to be a good day.

S***********************************************

What a godawful day. Not only had the two of them been caught in a heavy downpour that had come out of nowhere, Arthur's horse had seen a snake as they had crossed an old rotting log and reared, pulling the reins of both animals out of Rolph's hands. The horses had lost no time in bolting for Camelot and their nice warm stall. The boy probably wanted to do the same - he looked like nothing more then a drowned rat, water running from wet strings of hair across his forehead as he shivered constantly in his thin clothes. Arthur felt bad for him, but the King had ordered a roast and so Arthur had to deliver, despite the fact the rain seemed to have sent all the game underground. Besides, his sympathy was tempered by the string of nearly inaudible complaints and insults that Rolph no doubt thought he couldn't hear.

"Dragging me out in the bloody rain, prince prats and bloody killing things, why do I have to come and lug his stupid gear..."

Arthur found it strangely familiar and relaxing. He was obviously going barmy.

Wait! There was movement. A flash of brown and Arthur was off in pursuit. He swung his bow off his shoulder and loaded an arrow, silently running through the undergrowth. Rolph and his complaints were soon left far behind, the servant's lack of muscle and endurance leaving him far behind the Prince.

Arthur pelted through the forest, pushing onwards through a stream, up a hill and through bramble patches, keeping the elusive flash of the deer in his sights. The animal would pause, ever so often, allowing him to gain some ground before it bounded off yet again. Arthur cursed the lost horses and Rolph's ineptitude repeatedly in his head as he puffed along and as his lungs burned. The deer's behavior was beyond strange; he knew he should have lost the animal leagues ago on foot and in this terrain, but it stayed tauntingly just out of reach. And so Arthur continued to run.

Arthur leapt a fallen log and pushed through a dense thicket of branches before suddenly bursting into a clearing. Despite the pregnant black clouds coating the sky the rain had petered off, and for the moment Arthur had a clear view for 100 yards of open ground. The deer was nowhere in sight.

"Fuck!" Arthur swore. He stomped to a nearby tuft of grass and began kicking it viciously, taking out his frustration with this whole stupid hunt. _Fucking deer, fucking feast, fucking horses ... _

"They say an even temperament is a virtue, you know."

Arthur swore again and spun, pulling his sword out in one smooth move. A vaguely familiar woman with striking blue eyes stood before him, one hand on her hip and a superior smirk on her lips. She raised a mocking eyebrow at his surprise.

The woman ran her tongue over her teeth and swayed towards him. "The deer had a prior engagement," she purred as she approached, "Terribly sorry. So I thought I'd fill in. Wouldn't want the great Prince Arthur to feel disappointed."

Arthur's sword never wavered. "Who are you?" he demanded. Everything, from her blue dress that rippled like the ocean and her powerful, dangerous bearing screamed 'sorceress.' He'd really have to apologize to Rolph later.

Or you know, feel vaguely sorry. Or something princely.

"Why Arthur," the woman said, raising her hand to her mouth in mock horror. "You don't remember me? I'm hurt. My name is Nimueh. Our last meeting was so...memorable too. Perhaps this would help?"

She waved her hand and her blue dress shimmered, transforming into ripped red garb. She clutched the material to her her chest dramatically. "Oh brave knight, save me from the dreadful beast!" she cried. Arthur's gaze hardened in recognition.

"You," he said. "What do you want? Are you here to try and kill me again? And don't come any closer," he added as she came to just outside arm's length.

"Now, now Arthur," Nimueh tutted reproachfully. "Don't you ever listen? I told you it was not your fate to die by my hand."

"As I recall you told me this as you left me dangling over a crevasse filled with deadly spiders," Arthur snarled, blade following the woman carefully as she circled him. "Forgive me if I'm a little dubious."

"Oh that," she dismissed. "That wasn't aimed at you. I just wanted to delay you so your little sorcerer died." As Arthur's eyes widened in shock, she made a show of looking around. "Where is the little bastard, by the way? He's usually stuck to you like a burr."

"He was working with you, wasn't he," Arthur said, cold ice filling his chest as he realized the depth of Merlin's betrayal. "You had a disagreement. That's what that was all about. He was out to destroy Camelot all along." His heart constricted tightly leaving him short of breath. Deep down he had hoped that he had made a mistake about his friend, that maybe he had been wrong, that perhaps not all sorcerers (not Merlin!) were evil. Arthur grimaced internally at his foolishness.

A peal of laughter shook him out of his furious self-recrimination. The woman shook her head at him patronizingly as she cackled. "Oh Arthur, you are the spitting copy of Uther, aren't you. He must be so very proud. But," she said, waving her finger in his face, "You know of whom I speak. Interesting. So tell me, where is my dear friend Merlin? Haven't used him for firewood or target practice lately have we?"

Arthur flinched, the memory of the still-bloody dagger in his chambers written across his face. Nimueh cackled louder.

"You did, didn't you!" she hooted. "Oh, that's simply the best thing I've heard in years!"

Arthur, watched, confused, as the sorceress wiped tears of laughter off her face. He sensed somewhere that he'd lost control of the situation.

The sorceress shook her head at him again. "You Pendragons," she said. "Always so quick to betray your friends. And he was the very best friend to you, you know," she added smugly. "Serving your every need, taking care of you and defending you from every magical creature and sorcerer. He was a traitor to his own kind in taking the Pendragon side.

"It was quite nauseating, actually, the love he had for you," she continued as Arthur's expression grew increasingly horrified. "I wonder how he felt when his best friend sentenced him to death? Do you think he realized then what a fool he had been to believe in you? Did he stare at you as he suffered, plead with you to believe in him? His heart would have broken when you turned away. And quite right too," she added, satisfied. "The stupid fool. Pendragons always betray their 'friends'."

"Stop it!" Arthur yelled, eyes watering. He lunged at Nimueh, trying to grab her and put his blade to her throat. But his hands met with nothing but air and he almost pitched onto his face. The ice had melted from his heart and now seemed to have lodged itself in the back of his throat and eyes. He swallowed painfully as once again his memory of Merlin as he last saw him spun before his eyes.

_Merlin, curled on his side, the blood from his face dripping on the leaves... _

At the least the boy would have a huge scar for life. _If _the cut didn't get infected. _If _he had found shelter outside in Camelot with sufficient medical care. If, if, if. _If _Arthur hadn't caused his death by lashing out in hurt and anger against his best (only) friend who had done nothing more then protect himself. And, if Nimueh was telling the truth - and she had no reason not to, believing Merlin dead - protect Arthur as well. He felt sick with guilt and remorse.

"Sorry now, are we?"

Arthur turned and to his complete lack of surprise Nimueh had reappeared. She seemed to be having a fantastic time, the Prince thought bitterly.

"What do you _want, _" he snarled in frustration as he readjusted the position of his sword, as useless as he knew it would be. Nimueh put her hand on her chin and pretended to ponder.

"Well, this _has _been a lot more fun then I expected. I only came to test my new invention, but you are an emotional minefield, Prince Arthur! Hurts, doesn't it, to realize you betrayed a friend? I wonder if Uther ever feels that way about me?"

Arthur frowned at his and Nimueh seemed to realize she had revealed too much. "No matter," she said briskly, determination and a certain cold glee settling over her face. Arthur took a step back at the malice sparkling in her eyes.

The sorceress reached beneath her (blue again) robe and withdrew an eerie glowing green globe. Little sparks of yellow lightning ran up and down its surface as she held it up before her face and stroked it lovingly.

"Do you like it? I've worked on it for months, just for you, Prince Arthur. I don't think I'd ever be able to reproduce the perfect balance of spells it required. Truly, it has been my finest work."

There was movement in the trees behind her. Arthur shifted his attention from the (strangely terrifying) globe and spotted Rolph, a giant stick in his hands, approaching from behind with what the servant probably thought was stealth. _Idiot. _Arthur tried to shake his head slightly at him in warning before returning his attention to the sorceress.

"I thought you said it wasn't your destiny to kill me," he said.

"Excellent point, your Highness," she said, seeming to enjoy drawing out his title mockingly. She began passing the ball from hand to hand using only the backs of her hands in strangely hypnotic wrist movements. Arthur found it hard not to be mesmerized as the green lights flicked back and forth between her hands. His sword point dropped slightly.

"This ball doesn't kill you. It is far to subtle for that. This ball merely makes you wish you were dead. Remember your nightmares, Prince Arthur, the ones that you won't even admit to yourself? Do you recall your worst memories, your fears and doubts? This globe brings them all to vivid life for you. They become your only reality. Unfortunately," she said, staring pensively down at the ball, "The experience is only temporary. Six or seven days at the most. But that is sufficient for my goal. No, I will not deliver a dead prince to Uther," she said. Arthur suddenly could not pull his gaze away from her piercing blue eyes. They filled his vision.

"But how about a mad one? Aseth!" she cried, and threw the globe. Arthur couldn't even see the danger,locked in place as he was by the silent spell of her gaze. He was drowning in sapphires.

A heavy weight hit him from the side and the spell was shattered. Nimueh shrieked as Rolph threw himself at Arthur, tackling him and pushing them both to the ground. Eye contact was broken as Arthur fell backwards and the Prince came back to himself in a start.

Just in time to see the green orb brush Rolph's shoulder as they fell together, the servant's body protecting the prince. The boy screamed, a horrific animal sound torn from deep within his body. His body arched from where he lay on top of Arthur as green lightning ran up and down his limbs. Nimueh ran forwards and grabbed the boy by the hair as he began to convulse.

"How dare you!" she screamed. She yanked his head back and bared her teeth in fury. As Arthur tried to dislodge Rolph and reach his sword so he could defend them both Nimueh gripped the boy's elbow and threw him off the Prince. Rolph didn't even seem to notice the bruising grip she held on his head as his eyes rolled up and he continued to shriek at things only he could see.

"This fate was meant for you," Nimueh screeched, shaking the convulsing boy in front of Arthur as the Prince struggled to get up. "But I guess we'll have to settle for this. How does it feel to have another servant sacrificed for you, Prince Arthur? I hope you feel every one of his nightmares. He suffers them for _you _! This is _your _fault."

And as Arthur grabbed his sword from the ground and lunged, she disappeared once more.

Taking Rolph with her.

S************************************************

Arthur stopped running, his every breath rasping like knife in his chest. He turned and slammed his fist into the nearest tree, ignoring the pain as the skin on his knuckles split. There were no tracks. Rolph and the sorceress were gone.

He had failed again.


	5. Chapter 5

_Arthur moved silently towards the castle courtyard with all his senses alert and searching for threats. He wasn't sure what had woken him - perhaps the scrape of a boot sole, or the clang of metal against metal where there should be none - but he had grabbed up his sword and padded silently from his chambers down the castle steps, sure there was something out of place. Something calling to him._

The light from his torch spilled over the courtyard and shadows began dancing wildly in the sparks. The darkness seemed an almost solid thing with the torchlight serving to give it form rather then reveal its secrets. Arthur spun as a figure moved at the edge of the very darkest corner, a mere flicker against the light.

"Rolph?" Arthur swung his torch in the direction of the movement. He didn't know why he was so sure the figure was his errant manservant, but he felt it with a gut-deep instinct that went beyond reason. The figure moved towards him as Arthur stayed locked in place, waiting.

"Rolph?" the prince asked again, strangely apprehensive. Arthur found suddenly he didn't want the figure to enter the circle of torchlight and took a hesitant half-step backwards, dreading what the light would reveal.

The light spilled over the dark figure as he walked closer. It was Rolph, the man looking downwards in a show of respect for the Prince that had been rare in his recent months of servitude. Arthur smiled, relief releasing the bubble of tension in his chest as he laughed inwardly at his former anxiety.

"Its about time. What have you been thinking, making me look for you like this?" Arthur demanded. "My father has been furious. I'm of half a mind to slap you into the stocks for all the trouble you've been causing."

Rolph continued to look at the cobblestones at his feet, taking the unfair abuse in silence. His unnatural act of servility (eerily similar to his first days of service) unnerved Arthur and the Prince snapped in irritation, the worry and fear of the past week morphing into anger now he knew the boy was safe.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

The servant lifted his head and the torchlight highlighted his features for the first time. Arthur gasped in shock and horror and stumbled backwards, hand before him to ward away the apparition. Rolph's face was obscured by blood, the torn edges of a long jagged cut gaping open across his face as blood ran down his neck and soaked his rust stained uniform. Arthur swallowed bile as he saw bone beneath the gently flapping tissue. But the prince had seen many horrific battle wounds and it was not the gruesome spectacle that caused the fear suddenly choking his throat - Rolph's pupils were gone, leaving glowing, crazed green orbs that roved restlessly beneath his sunken eyelids. The Prince swallowed again as he realized that his servant was now blind beyond the horrors in his mind. Rolph opened his mouth to speak but it was Nimueh's voice Arthur heard echoing in his mind.

"This is **your **_fault." _

Arthur shot straight up in bed, hand reaching automatically for a weapon as he gasped amongst sweaty sheets. Even when he recognized that he was alone, in his chambers and free from the accusing stare of a disfigured manservant, Arthur stared into the darkness for a long time. 

S~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The prince paced his chambers restlessly. It had been a week. Seven days in which he had led patrol after patrol through the surrounding forest, combing the landscape relentlessly in desperation as he tried to find his vanished manservant. The coiled fear and guilt in his gut had tightened painfully as day after day went by with nothing. He couldn't sleep - every time he closed his eyes he saw the dark figure in the courtyard behind his eyelids.

He had reported the incident with Nimueh to his father, and it remained one of the strangest interactions Arthur had had with the King to date. Uther had gone positively white at the mention of the sorceress's name. When Arthur mentioned her throwaway comment hinting at a past interaction with the King, bright red spots of fury burned in Uther's cheeks and his hands had clenched into white knuckled fists where they gripped the throne.

"I needn't remind you that sorcerers are lying, evil vermin," Uther snarled, rising from the throne in sharp and jerky movements before pacing in front of where his son stood. He hands had twitched in strained claws with every syllable he spoke as the calm, regal and self-assured King disappeared, and for the first time Arthur glimpsed the angry, bitter old man that lay beneath the crown. Uther's face creased into old lines of hate and his lip curled as he dismissed Rolph's sacrifice and focused on his favorite topic.

"Nim...this _woman _must be found and executed immediately," the King ordered. "I will assign you whatever knights you require. And Arthur," he added as his son bowed and made to leave the room, "Do not forget the sorceress is the principle objective here. The boy was nothing."

Arthur had gritted his teeth to keep his anger at bay while he bowed again. "Of course Father," he had said tightly before striding from the room.

That had been six days ago and despite Arthur defying his Father's orders and instructing his knights to search for any traces of Rolph, even using the castle hunting dogs, the pursuit had turned up nothing. His fears for Rolph's sanity grew with every passing hour and as his iron control began to slip servants and courtiers began disappearing from the corridors at his approach, fearing the anger Arthur now carried around him like a cloak. Anger was good. Anger kept the fear and guilt _(for Rolph? his treacherous mind asked. Or for Merlin?) _at bay.

Morgana had started talking to him again for the first time in months, stopping him in the hallway after another unsuccessful patrol to put a gentle hand on his arm.

"You'll find him," was all she said, but her eyes had been understanding. Taken aback at this sign of a truce, Arthur had taken the comfort, laying his hand on hers for a half second before re-asserting his mask.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he had blustered weakly. Morgana had merely stepped back and smiled her irritating knowing half smile as he had walked away.

_"He was just a servant father. Why does he matter?"  
"It was quite nauseating, actually, the love he had for you."  
"This is __**your **__fault."  
"He never left then. He loves you too much."  
"Do you think he realized then what a fool he had been to believe in you?"  
"This is __**your **__fault."  
"Did you kill your last servant, sire?"  
"He was the very best friend to you, you know."  
_**"This is YOUR fault!" **

"SHUT UP!"

Arthur picked up the still-bloody dagger from his table where it had rested since Fall - _since Merlin _- and flung it at the wall in a sudden burst of frustration. It impacted with a solid _thunk _in the door frame and vibrated right next to the head of the terrified servant who had just entered. The man froze with his hand still on the doorknob as he turned to stare at the death vibrating an inch from his nose.

Arthur shook his hand in the air and glared at the man, trying not to listen to Merlin - or was it Rolph? - berating him in his mind. "Yes? What is it?" he demanded. The man continued to stare cross-eyed at the dagger until Arthur clicked his fingers in front of his face impatiently.

"Sorry, M..m..m'lord," he stuttered. "A l..l..lady w..w...anted me to give you this." He thrust his hand our in front of him and closed his eyes as if he expected Arthur to grab his sword and lop it off. The Prince felt a little bad as he took the note from the servant's shaking fingers.

"You may go," he said, more gently. The man scuttled away like a rabbit, hunching in his shoulders to provide a smaller target. Arthur snorted as he unfolded the paper and moved back into his chambers.

_Dearest Arthur, _the note read. _I hope this note finds you well! I am terribly grieved to tell you that your servant is a tad under the weather but we had some _fascinating _chats. I think you'll be quite astonished yourself. I was initially terribly disappointed you declined my invitation - terribly rude of you - but I was absolutely thrilled at the unexpected_ quality _of your servant's company. Nonetheless, like all good things our time together has come to an end and it is time to return what's left to you. Come alone and I swear you will remain unharmed - I am far to interested in the new...discoveries...you will make._

Nimueh 

Directions were written on the bottom of the note. Arthur closed his eyes in relief. _Rolph was still alive. _Anything else they could deal with. He reread Nimueh's note before scrunching it and throwing it into the fireplace. The old Arthur - the Arthur before Merlin -screamed in his head. It was obviously a trap. He was the Crown Prince - it was Rolph's job to sacrifice himself for the royal family and no more thought should be given to it. The Prince was far to valuable to risk his life in a fools venture for one of so little worth. The Prince did not care about his servants any more then a good hunting dog - good when trained but easily replaceable.

But Arthur did. The Arthur who had learned over the past year to laugh with servants, to value, trust - _be friends _- with a servant. Arthur, who despite his promises to himself had come to value Rolph far more than he should.

He didn't look back as he left his chambers.

S~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur stared at the cave before him. Cave was a misnomer - it was little more then a deep hole gauged into a hillside, covered over with vines and half a rotted tree bole that had fallen in some past storm. His knights would have passed it a hundred times over and never even stopped.

He hadn't been able to leave right away. Security had been heightened since Nimueh's attempt on the Crown Prince's life and Arthur could no longer slip away without the presence of his ever-vigilant guards. It was galling, but logically Arthur understood the necessity. Uther was afraid, more afraid then Arthur had ever seen him, lending credence to Nimueh's claim of a past association. He was taking no chances with the life of his only son and heir. But the note had clearly said alone and Arthur was under no illusions that Nimueh would not be watching - if he left the castle with a cadre of knights in tow Rolph would be dead before they even left the castle proper.

In the end he was forced to rely on Morgana's help, knowing that she would be behind any rescue attempt. But when he had explained the situation she had been surprisingly dubious.

"Don't be a fool. You know its a trap," she had said harshly, hands on hips, face pulled into an expression of disbelief at his stupidity. "Nimueh has proven herself to be incredibly powerful and extremely vicious. Arthur, I know I backed you in getting that flower for Merlin, but there you had a chance! Even someone of your limited intelligence should be able to see that this can be nothing other then a suicide mission."

Arthur looked her in the eyes, seeing the concern she hid behind her caustic exterior.

"Of course I know it's a trap," he had replied steadily, refusing to rise to the insult. "What do you take me for? But this will be my _only _chance. And," he said, hesitating, "I owe it to him, 'Gana. I...haven't always been the master I should. And this is my chance...Merl... Rolph has given his life for me. Maybe his mind. How can I as a prince - as a _man _- possibly think to do less?" he asked, wincing inwardly at himself. He was turning into a bloody _girl _. But Morgana's eyes had softened as she moved forward to take one of his hands.

"I understand. Of course you can't. But you have no defense against the sorceress, Arthur. You will achieve nothing if you both end up dead. You don't even know that Rolph is alive."

"I know," he said heavily. "But I got... both from her note and from when we met...that she wants to see me suffer more then anything. Why else the torture spell? And I think she knows that seeing Rolph...hurt...will hurt me. Just because of my responsibility to him, of course," he added quickly. "But I think, this time at least, she simply wants to watch and gloat."

Morgana looked at him for a long time before nodding slowly. "Okay Arthur. I'll trust you know what you are talking about. Bear in mind of course," she added evilly, "You will owe me for all eternity. And I want your stuff if you die. Including your armor. And blade. And that hauberk I've had my eye on for a while..."

"Never, witch," Arthur smiled, relieved. "I've already told Gawain he is next in line for my cast-offs."

"Bastard," she replied good-naturedly. "Oh Gwe-en!" Her maid appeared behind her suddenly. "I believe one of Arthur's guards insulted me this morning. How do you feel about creating a scene?"

The shrieks of fury had still been echoing behind him as he had snuck out of the castle.

Now Arthur stood before the cave that had been the end result of Nimueh's instructions. His throat bobbed anxiously as he tied his horse to a nearby branch and tried to dispel the ice crystallizing in his gut. What was he afraid of? He had faced death before, many times over.

_Rolph's face was obscured by blood, the torn edges of a long jagged cut gaping open across his face as blood ran down his neck and soaked his rust stained uniform. His pupils were gone, leaving glowing, crazed green orbs that roved restlessly beneath sunken eyelids. He opened his mouth..._

Arthur drew his sword and kept his eyes alert for any threats as he moved over the uneven ground. A few blade swipes and the vines fell from the cavemouth, revealing a deeper cavern than Arthur had first thought, and he pulled a flint and stone from his pack and struck a light, raising the taper high to illuminate the shadows. As he shifted it the light flickered over a darker shape curled against the wall. The boy's head was hidden tightly in his knees and his arms covered his head, as if to shield a blow. Light shudders continually ran the length of the thin frame.

"Rolph!" Arthur exclaimed, running forwards to fall on his knees besides the figure. Dreading what he would see, he gently touched the boy's shoulder.

The figure unfolded itself gingerly at the touch, the torch light flickering over pale limbs as they gradually unshielded the bent head. The face that lifted to meet Arthur's was harsh - a puckered red scar traversed its length, running from the chin over sharp cheekbones to the brilliant blue eyes meeting Arthur's own. Overgrown black hair hung in sweaty disarray, tufts sticking up from where they had been yanked on in distress. Arthur reeled backwards in shock, feeling like he had been run through with a sword.

"Oh. Its you," said Merlin flatly.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh, it's you," Merlin said flatly. _"Again." _

Arthur stared openly at the sorcerer-cum-former-manservant at his feet, his mind blank with shock. In all the scenarios he had constructed in his head since receiving Nimueh's letter this had never even featured as a possibility.

_What was going on? _

"I don't..." he started. "What is...Rolph -"

Merlin laughed nastily, his ruined face twisting into a mocking sneer. "Oh yes, your precious _Rolph," _he said, drawling the name. "Your observational skills haven't improved any since I 'left' you. Sometimes I wonder why you're still alive. Then I remember a certain stupid sorcerer who didn't learn his first lesson." His face darkened and something like pain briefly crossed his features. "Of course, then it simply became too late."

"Too late?" Arthur repeated stupidly, confused. He stared at the man he had thought he would never see again, a man alive and (mostly) whole staring at him nonchalantly from his seat on the floor. A man who was certainly not the blonde, cheerful servant he had expected. The Prince opened his mouth and closed it, opened it to speak and shut it again, gawping like a particularly stupid fish. Events were moving too quickly for him to follow. "How are you..."

"Here?" Merlin finished. "Were you expecting someone else?" He shrugged his bony shoulders nonchalantly. "Terribly sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "The package isn't quite as pretty," baring his teeth in a spiteful grin, "but it's far more genuine."

Arthur blinked as pieces began falling into place. Rolph's burgeoning disrespect and banter as he-as _Merlin, _and how was that even possible? -had begun to let his guard down. The familiarity and, yes, bond that had begun to develop between them. Rolph/Merlin's determination for Gaius to know he was still alive - Arthur huffed a dry laugh, recognizing how well he had been played back then. The boy's seemingly naive and illogical loyalty to a prince he had never met.

Arthur winced at his hubris of the last few months as he realized that he should have recognized that particular brand of blind loyalty immediately, what with the way Rolph had tried to foolishly throw his life away for Arthur on a regular basis. Only Merlin had ever genuinely cared for the well being of Arthur, the man, and not Arthur, Crown Prince. Arthur had to half-smile at that - Merlin hadn't given a toss for the prince, and had regularly demonstrated that to the entire court given the slightest opportunity.

How had Arthur discarded their entire relationship as a falsehood? A falsehood supposedly coming from the court idiot who couldn't manage a lie to keep himself out of the stocks, let alone ingratiate himself with the Crown Prince for some nefarious purpose.

All his soul-searching of the past few months was finally coming to one simple conclusion.

Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin had lied to him for over a year. But Merlin was his friend, he was in need, and Arthur couldn't give a damn about anything else anymore.

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow in an unconscious impression of Gaius as the thoughts flitted quickly through Arthur's mind.

Merlin was here and he was _alive. _A heavy weight was lifted off Arthur's shoulders as he accepted the evidence in front of him. Anger briefly flickered to life in his chest as he thought of the worry he had experienced thinking that Merlin could have died, when all the time the servant was skylarking about in disguise; but it died as quickly as it had arisen as his eyes traced the swollen disfiguration on Merlin's face and the hot flush of shame rose to take its place. That was _his _work. What possible right did he have to Merlin's trust?

Why had he stayed? Did his loyalty to Arthur really go that deep?

_He was the very best friend to you, you know, _Nimueh's voice echoed in his memory.

If they were ever going to heal the gaping rift between them – if they even could- it was going to have to start with Arthur. He stepped forward and reached out his hand to the kneeling boy, intending to clasp his shoulder in a gesture of friendship.

He was totally unprepared for what he got. Merlin was up on his feet and on the other side of the cave in an eyeblink, his body half-crouched in a defensive position and his hands out in front of him threateningly. "Don't fucking _touch _me," the sorcerer hissed violently, spittle flying from his lips.

Arthur started in shock at the speed and aggressiveness of the movement, his battle instincts kicking in as he leapt back and groped for his swordhilt.

And Merlin started to laugh. It was a dry, rasping noise, a sound dragged out of a shredded throat and echoing harshly within the stone walls of the cave, so utterly lacking in humor or joy that it seemed to swallow the noises of the forest. It sent shards of ice through Arthur's chest and he flinched as the sorcerer rocked on the balls of his feet and the horrible, shredded sound grew louder and louder, feeding on its echoes as it grew and sliced painfully into Arthur's ears.

"STOP IT!" he shouted wildly, jumping forwards and grabbing Merlin by the shoulders. He shook him hard, twice, thinking nothing further then getting him to stop the hysterical – he didn't allow himself to think the word mad – noise before it drove Arthur to kill him, or himself, or both. The laughter cut off as though sheared with a knife and the sudden silence made Arthur's head reel for a moment.

Merlin snarled.

Arthur only realized the stupidity of assaulting a frenzied sorcerer when Merlin's eyes flashed a burning golden and he felt his hands forcibly removed from the man's shoulders. He stared into the impossible glowing orbs and opened his mouth to apologize but too late -his stomach suddenly dropped and the caves walls sped past as he was thrown backwards into the air.

His head slammed into the cave wall with a _crack. _

"Not again," Merlin hissed at him as Arthur tried to blink the stars from his vision. He tried to think through the pounding ache in his head and realized dazedly that he couldn't move; Merlin had pinned him to the cave wall, arms spread in a mockery of a sacrificial pose. "You won't do it to me again. I won't...I can't!"

His voice cracked on the last word and Arthur wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"Merlin..." he tried tentatively. The man was shaking, violent tremors running the full length of his body as his burning golden (green?) eyes continued to stare holes in Arthur. His body was still crouched in a half-standing position with his back pressed tightly against the cave wall, and the prince was struck with the image of a wounded animal, cornered and frightened and without hope or any way out.

And all the more vicious.

"Merlin," he repeated gently. "I know you have no reason to believe me, but I am not going to hurt you."

It must have been the wrong thing to say. Merlin's shaking hands clenched into claws and he flew across the space dividing them, grabbing Arthur by the throat and pushing his head hard into the stone. Bound as he was, the prince could make no move to defend himself and flinched at the sudden movement, gasping slightly as Merlin grabbed his throat and _squeezed. _He could still breathe-barely- but as a knight he was all too aware how little further movement it would take to crush his windpipe completely. He froze.

"Not hurt me, huh?" Merlin breathed against his ear. His whole body pressed against Arthur's as he pressed the prince harder into the wall, his breath ghosting lightly on Arthur's face and making him shiver. "It's to be games again this time, then. But I've got nothing left to play with, Arthur. _Nothing." _

There was definitely green, Arthur thought a little hysterically. Merlin's eyes were so close to his he could see every bloodshot line, every design shading his irises, the gold burning into his eyes and making him see afterglows in the dark of the cave. Yet while the gold was terrifying, the flame glowed with a purity and brightness that inspired awe and joy in Arthur's heart, seeming to see right into his soul and burn out the shadows lurking within. It did not inspire horror or darkness.

The other did.

He could see it clearly now, bolts of olive sparking and flashing within Merlin's dilated pupils as he pressed closer. It was a murky, dirty color, one that inspired thoughts of swamps and decay that turned his stomach and repulsed him. He had seen it before.

_The servant lifted his head and the torchlight highlighted his features for the first time. Arthur gasped in shock and horror and stumbled backwards, hand before him to ward away the apparition. Rolph's pupils were gone, leaving glowing, crazed green orbs that roved restlessly beneath his sunken eyelids._

Remember your nightmares, Prince Arthur, the ones that you won't even admit to yourself? Nimueh's words taunted him mercilessly. _Do you recall your worst memories, your fears and doubts? This globe brings them all to vivid life for you. They become your only reality._

_**Only **__reality._

Your fault. 

Arthur swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing against Merlin's restricting hand. He had almost forgotten Nimueh's attack in the shock of seeing Merlin again. _No wonder she had been so pleased, _the tactician in him thought clinically. She got two for one here – Merlin was obviously trapped in the lies her magic had crafted around him and had focused on him, Arthur, as the cause. And he had no defense against Merlin, magic or no, the last of his barriers destroyed when the first drip of blood had fallen from his friend on a forest floor in the middle of nowhere. The other man had no way of knowing his newly-acknowledged importance to the prince and no reason to trust Arthur's protestations of friendship. Yet Arthur knew, deep inside, that as broken as Merlin was now, murdering Arthur would be the final straw that snapped the sorcerer's mind. He would be utterly destroyed.

And so they both would fall.

He had to explain this to Merlin; get through to him somehow.

"Mr'ln, l't m' go," he choked out with difficulty. While he could still breathe the restriction was beginning to make him feel light-headed and he was going to need all his wits about him to successfully navigate the minefield of his manservant's mind. Merlin's thumb stroked his throat lazily as the sorcerer chuckled harshly in reply.

It was not a nice sound.

"Let you go? So you can play with me again? I don't think so," Merlin replied, almost gently. His free hand trailed softly down the side of Arthur's face and the prince shivered in reaction. "Do you know, all those times, all those games and I never lifted a finger against you? The beatings, the brands, the...other things. I really believed," he added wistfully, turning the golden eyes away from Arthur, staring at something only he could see. "In you. In _us. _I thought, given time, you would realize that I was only for you. That my life was for you." His hand tightened convulsively on Arthur's throat and the prince choked, trying to struggle against the invisible restraints as his air supply was abruptly cut off. "But you never did," Merlin bit off harshly, ignoring Arthur's futile attempts to move. "Never. A lie, that was all it was. The dragon, your so-called 'friendship.' I should have known. And now you come here to try again."

The golden eyes turned back to face him. Arthur struggled to understand, his vision being taken over by black and golden dots as he fought to keep his eyes open. His throat burned for air as his struggles against his bonds grew weaker and weaker. _Merlin was killing him, _he realized with some astonishment.

"Do you know how it feels, to have the very skin flayed from your bones?" Merlin's eyes had gone distant again, the murky olive color growing stronger and more pronounced in his pupils. "Every nerve becomes a white-hot bolt of agony, flames within your blood building upon one another until you scream and scream and forget your own name in the desire to have it _stop. _While the man you thought was your friend stares at you with cold eyes and brings it down for another go, looking through you as if you were less than the dirt beneath his feet. While you writhe and plead for death, for release from the pain, while you try to explain your loyalty and the reason for your lies as you gasp every bloody breath- and he turns away. Do you know how that feels, Arthur?" he whispered against Arthur's temple. "Maybe you should. We have ourselves here a golden opportunity, after all."

Arthur felt ice crystallize in his gut as he listened to those cold, dispassionate words. _Oh Merlin, _he thought miserably. _My God, what has happened to you. _

He blinked blearily, knowing that the next few moments would decide the fates of both him and his friend forever.

He went totally limp in Merlin's hold, letting his muscles go lax in an effort to conserve his remaining air as he put his fate totally in the sorcerer's hands. With his last few seconds of consciousness he tried to keep his eyes focused on the golden-green orbs before him, searching for _Merlin _inside the warped magic, beneath the pain and fear and false memories. If he could just reach him - the real Merlin would never hurt him. Arthur didn't know where his faith came from, but he felt it deep within his bones, a truth that could never again be refuted. He just needed to reach - make him see -

_I am here and I will never hurt you again. I need you, my friend. Don't do this, for both our sakes. _

But his time finally ran out. Arthur struggled desperately to stay awake but his lungs contracted painfully and finally gave up their desperate fight for air, his remaining vision tunneling to black. His head fell forwards limply against the restraints.

_I'm sorry Merlin, _Arthur thought muzzily as his eyes began to shut. _I am so, so sorry. _

He had just enough time to know he had failed again.

Then darkness rose up to swallow him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Before: **

_But his time finally ran out. Arthur struggled desperately to stay awake but his lungs contracted painfully and finally gave up their desperate fight for air, his remaining vision tunneling to black. His head fell forwards limply against the restraints._

I'm sorry Merlin, Arthur thought muzzily as his eyes began to shut. I am so, so sorry.

He had just enough time to know he had failed again.

Then darkness rose up to swallow him.  


**Now: **

The pressure was suddenly released and Arthur gasped, air rushing into his bruised throat and burning sharply against his windpipe as he desperately gulped for oxygen. Each difficult breath tasted honey-sweet on his tongue and as he struggled to hold onto consciousness he left his head hanging down, momentarily too dizzy and disorientated to concentrate beyond blinking away the darkness that still lingered at the edges of his vision. His throat ached from the pressure applied by Merlin's grip and Arthur knew bruising would be darkening his skin already, but from what he remembered from Merlin's dark tones there would be worse still to come.

It couldn't hurt more than the guilt currently shredding his insides.

He waited with baited breath for the pain to begin, gritting his teeth in readiness as he braced himself. He knew it wasn't Merlin's fault. The boy had been tormented and twisted into a broken caricature of himself until he could no longer recognise reality from nightmare. The roiling hatred in Arthur's gut that constricted his throat and burned behind his eyes was all for Nimueh. Nimueh, who had taken a happy, vibrant and kindly boy and used him to take her revenge on the royal family to whom the fool had sworn his life.

Arthur made up his mind then. No matter what happened he would not blame Merlin; he would not give Nimueh the pleasure of breaking and manipulating the two of them any further. He had gone through many trials in the path to becoming the best knight of Camelot, facing battles and wounds that had left lasting scars on him physically and mentally - a glancing blow from a poisoned dagger when he was fifteen had made him feel like his very flesh was dissolving. He would look at what came next as simply another step to be endured.

All this spun through Arthur's thoughts in seconds as he swam back to full consciousness. He screwed his eyes shut and waited.

And waited. A moment went past. Then another. His breathing steadied and evened out and still nothing had happened so he raised his eyes, feeling a spark of hope rise in his breast.

Merlin was still standing in front of him but the sorcerer was ignoring Arthur, staring instead at his hands in what looked like agonised indecision. Tremors were running through his body again and becoming progressively more violent and the boy began swaying as his muscles convulsed without his control. When Merlin lifted his eyes to meet Arthur's again the prince saw with astonishment that his face was awash with tears.

"Still," Merlin said in a cracking voice. "Still, I can't. _Can't. _Why not?" he asked in a child's voice, turning desperate eyes to Arthur's as though seeking the answer. The spark of hope in Arthur's breast fanned into a strong flame when he saw Merlin's eyes were once more a steady gold. He spared a half thought to appreciate the irony of feeling relief at the evidence of _pure _magic and the thought struck him as somewhat important, but he dismissed it as something to ponder later.

Before him Merlin scrunched up his eyes in misery as tears continued to stream down his face. The boy wrapped his arms around his chest tightly as though trying to hold himself together and slowly sunk to the ground, burying his head in his knees and beginning to rock back and forth in a terrible raw display of grief. Arthur ached for the boy's- for his _friend's _pain, and wasn't that so easy to acknowledge now? - longing to be able to _do _something, his mind awhirl with grief, fury, despair and guilty relief. He wanted to comfort Merlin, _murder _Nimueh, make the last few weeks never have happened, _something. _

And as if the Gods heard his wish Arthur suddenly felt the slightest hint of freedom of movement in his legs. He paused in his self-critical inner dialogue at the sensation and flexed his limbs experimentally, surprised as he felt the former iron-tight bonds loosening and becoming elastic, and as he tested them further by moving his arms upwards gingerly they stretched with him. He clenched and unclenched his muscles to get the blood moving again and tried to not hiss as his formerly restricted limbs cramped violently, but a quick glance at Merlin showed the sorcerer was lost to the outside world and locked tightly in his own misery. So Arthur took the chance, taking a tentative step forward away from the cave wall that had been his prison.

The bonds resisted momentarily before snapping as if they'd never been stronger then spiderwebs.

He was free. He could leave, return to Camelot and apologise to his father for his absence. He could leave this crazy sorcerer and all the guilt and pain that was wrapped up with him behind in this lonely cave. He could return to be simply Crown Prince – something he understood.

He took a step forwards.

And faced Merlin, scrunched in a ball on the hard stone floor, rocking back and forth and keening as though his heart would break.

And hated himself for the thought.

Arthur was struck with indecision. _What was he supposed to do? _Comforting manservant-sorcerers was not a skill one learnt as Crown Prince of Camelot. Particularly broken, violent sorcerers who loathed the sight of him and believed he was the source of their misery. Merlin was more likely to interpret any action from Arthur as an attack and react accordingly, given the knife-edge of sanity on which he was currently balancing.

But the sheer desolation in Merlin's cries struck Arthur to the heart. _Not the sorcerer, but his friend, _he repeated to himself, was in need and hurting because of Arthur. He was his responsibility.

He took one careful step forwards. When Merlin didn't react he took another, and another, until he could crouch alongside the shaking boy and tentatively put his arm around him. Merlin flinched violently at the contact and Arthur braced himself for retaliation. But Merlin merely raised his head and bloodshot blue eyes, glistening and overflowing like deep wells - no magic, dark or otherwise, just pure _Merlin _- blinked and met the Prince's.

"Please," Merlin whispered brokenly. "Just – make it quick."

_Oh Merlin. _How was he supposed to fix this? Arthur tightened his arm around Merlin's shoulders and stared into the boy's frightened eyes, trying to communicate reassurance and comfort as best he could. Merlin's eyes were open so wide Arthur could see the whites and the Prince was once more uncomfortably reminded of a terrified rabbit.

" _Mer_lin," Arthur croaked through his throbbing throat, striving for normality and struggling to find his feet amongst the sucking whirlpool that had swept away the situation. Merlin looked startled for a half-second before suspicion and fear resettled on his face like a familiar garment.

Arthur thought quickly, trying to think of any words that would defuse the situation, to start the first steps towards rebuilding their former easy camaraderie. If that were even possible.

"You have no reason to believe me, and I have no right to demand your trust," he began with difficulty. Humility was not something that came naturally to a prince used to getting what he wanted; but he seemed to always be breaking new barriers when it came to Merlin. "But I would never..." and Arthur paused, free hand coming up to lightly brush the ugly scar splitting his friend's face and swallowed hard, trying not to acknowledged the hurt that flared in his gut as Merlin flinched away. "I _will _never," he amended, _"Ever, _hurt you again."

Merlin didn't react. He didn't even seem to hear the words, continuing to rock on his heels and shake, lost somewhere Arthur couldn't reach. But the Prince of Camelot could never admit defeat.

He reached forward and grabbed the back of Merlin's head, burying his fingers in the dark strands as he jerked the boy forwards. Merlin flailed and lost his balance, tipping over and ending half sprawled in Arthur's lap with his head against the Prince's chest, and Arthur held on as the boy broke out of his paralysis and started to struggle. He put his free arm around Merlin's back and his other hand remained behind the boy's head, holding him to him as the boy squirmed.

"This is a _hug, _you idiot, I'm not attacking you!" Arthur growled as Merlin's elbow hit him painfully in the stomach. Merlin froze completely when he heard the frustration in Arthur's tone and the Prince cursed inwardly as he realised he had frightened his friend again. It was like trying to comfort a skittish colt. A _bony _skittish colt with bloody sharp elbows.

At least he had stopped fighting him.

Arthur ran his hand gently over Merlin's dirty hair, petting him gently as he tried to think what you were supposed to do when comforting a possibly-insane and terrified sorcerer. He vaguely remembered his old housemaid rocking him when he was very little – and singing a lullaby? Or something? It wasn't something a Crown Prince had any experience in and Uther had taken her away when Arthur was five, giving him an arms tutor instead. Merlin was a bit like a terrified child at the moment. He continued petting Merlin's hair and swayed back and forwards as best he could from his uncomfortable position on the stone floor, holding the servant tightly against his chest as he began humming tunelessly.

No one needed to know.

He hummed. And he rocked. He spoke to Merlin about castle gossip, about the riot that Morgana had concocted for his benefit, about the weaknesses of the knights he was training and the frustrations Arthur had experienced with the castle servants in the past week.

"And they just took it all!" he exclaimed to Merlin's unresponsive back. "I didn't know how to react when they didn't bite back. It was all yes Sire, no Sire, anything else Sire? Quite disconcerting. You would have called me a prat. Worst manservant ever, as I've said."

He risked a glance at the boy but Merlin was still ramrod stiff in his arms. _His muscles must have been cramping something terrible from holding him in place so long, _Arthur thought absently.

"Worst ever," he continued doggedly. "You talk back to me, you don't do your chores, you _completely _disregard class protocols and then you turn out to be a bloody _sorcerer!" _

Arthur paused, feeling shame rise up thick in his throat again.

"I am sorry about that, you know," he said awkwardly into Merlin's hair. "And... I'd rather like you to come back. Worst servant and all. If you...if you can hear me right now. If you're listening."

But Merlin didn't respond.

Arthur didn't know how long he sat there rocking the frozen boy. Hours? Certainly long enough for his backside to go numb and his arms to start cramping painfully from their locked position. He had resorted to singing off-tune bawdy ballads and was seriously contemplating the risks of trying to roll the boy over to see whether he was still alive when Merlin finally surrendered.

The servant's wire-tense body suddenly sagged bonelessly into Arthur's embrace, body going utterly limp against Arthur's as he let out a quiet broken sob. Arthur tightened his sore arms around his friend as Merlin buried his face in Arthur's chest and began to weep in earnest, letting out some of the poison and pain of the past weeks in raw cries that made Arthur's eyes blur. He felt his shirt getting wet and gently rested his chin on top of Merlin's head as the sorcerer shook, smiling softly when the boy only wrapped his arms around the Prince's torso and buried closer.

And for the first time he dared to hope that they might be okay.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry everyone for the long wait! I'm back on the writing train now, though I won't have internet again until Friday. Hope you enjoy the next bit! I'm a bit rusty. Comments make me bounce like a space hopper! :D**

Arthur could feel his soggy tunic sticking to his body by the time Merlin finally stiffened in his arms and pushed feebly at his chest to get the Prince to release him. Arthur dropped his aching arms from where they had been circling the warlock immediately and sat back on his heels with a sigh of relief, grimacing as blood resumed circulation through his abused limbs. He shook his arms briefly to relieve the muscles from the stress of their previous cramped position and then rested them on his knees, returning his attention to Merlin.

The warlock looked terrible. His eyes were swollen and red from crying and tear tracks had left smudged lines through the dirt on his face, which only worsened as he scrubbed his face viciously with the tail end of a dirty sleeve. His filthy hair hung in limp clumps over his forehead, flopping damply he panted quietly and stared at the cave floor, hands opening and closing reflexively in front of him. But Arthur's eyes were drawn again to the hideous disfiguring scar traversing his friend's face, still swollen and puffy from where it had failed to heal properly, dirt stains leaving ugly crisscrossing marks. His stomach twisted sharply in guilt and again his hand unconsciously half rose into the air as if to trace it.

Merlin flinched backwards so violently he almost fell over and Arthur snapped his hand back quickly, cursing himself inwardly for his lack of self control. For only the second time since that dreadful confrontation Merlin lifted his eyes to meet the Prince's, and Arthur gasped quietly and thanked the gods.

Arthur noticed, really _noticed _this time that his friend's eyes were once more a gentle sea-blue. For the first time in months Arthur saw his friend as he remembered him and a tiny bit of warmth bubbled up in his chest, making him swallow uncomfortably against a suddenly dry throat.

Both men sat there for a minute, staring at each other, neither sure how to break the impasse. Finally Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away.

"I'm going to need to head back," he said haltingly. "I wasn't supposed to follow you and I know they will have discovered I'm missing by now."

He stood and dusted himself off, feeling grimy both inside and out. A bath was in clearly in order as soon as he got back to Camelot. He felt lighter then he had in months as he envisioned the two of them returning together, a glow of triumph rising in his chest. Things would finally go back to normal, with Merlin back to bitch and complain, drop things, stand by him and smile that goofy smile that Arthur had secretly missed so much. Things were going to have to change of course, now that he knew Merlin's secret. But that was okay, that was _fine,_ because now they'd be able to change them together.

He turned towards the cave entrance and strode out into the sunlight, already planning how to lie to his father about his absence. Maybe he went to the battlements to be alone? But the servants would have seen him leaving. The horse had not been the best move. Fuck. He'd gone hunting? No, Uther would never swallow that one when his servant had gone missing.

He took a few more steps before he realized he was alone. Walking back to the cave he could see Merlin was still in the same position, staring at him quizzically.

"Well?"Arthur demanded.

"Aren't you going to tie me up?" Merlin asked, his head twisted sideways in curiosity.

"Tie you up?" Arthur asked in confusion.

"We are going to Camelot, yes? The Camelot where sorcerers are executed, yes? Do you expect me to walk there by myself?" Merlin said, looking at him as though he was an idiot.

Arthur was momentarily lost for words. He felt his heart plummet as he finally understood and his vision of their victorious return shattered into pieces. "Merlin," he said, and the man looked away from him into the forest, mouth twisted into a bitter line. "Merlin, no one is going to execute you."

Merlin returned his gaze to the prince and eyed him sceptically. "Uh huh," was all he said. His hand rose to stroke his scar and this time Arthur was the one who flinched.

"I mean it," Arthur said forcefully and with rising frustration. _Couldn't Merlin see what Arthur had done for him? He'd changed his whole world view for him! _

"I know words aren't enough, but I told you I am _sorry. _Don't you understand? _I am admitting I was wrong. _Wrong not to believe you, and I'm saying _sorry _I made you run and hide, _sorry _you got caught by Nimueh because of me."

"And this?" Merlin asked, gesturing to his face. "Are you _sorry _for attacking me? Sorry that I won't ever be able to show my face in public without people flinching, sorry that I am now a _freak?" _

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly and closed his eyes for a moment, the anger instantly dissolving into blinding shame. He swallowed painfully around the lump in his throat. "You have no idea just how sorry I am for that."

Merlin looked at him for a moment and then huffed doubtfully. He slowly picked himself up off the ground and stood, wavering in place before he steadied and reaching a shaking hand out to the wall for balance. Arthur realized belatedly that he must have spent the best part of a week without food or water and now he was paying attention he could see the man's bones standing out in sharp relief against his threadbare clothing. Nimueh's spell must have sustained him somehow or he'd have been dead already. The prince itched to offer him assistance as Merlin walked unsteadily to the cave mouth but knew it would be unwelcome, and forced himself to stay immobile until the man reached him.

"So," Arthur said, trying to conceal his desperation under a sheen of arrogance, "Are you coming or not?"

Merlin looked at him consideringly and then looked at the open sky. Arthur was struck by how fragile and fey he looked, the sun making his skin glow and the sharp angles of his face standing out in sharp relief. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to remain still despite his urge to reach out. He had the sudden idea that Merlin might disappear, might vanish away into the sunlight if Arthur didn't hold onto him somehow. He wouldn't, _couldn't _face a life without Merlin. He'd already had a taste, and as he looked back on those lonely, dreary days, days of duty and isolation, days of emptiness, his stomach clenched in anxiety. He no longer had any claim on Merlin. He's sacrificed their friendship when he'd spilt the man's blood in the forest months _(years)_ ago. But he _needed _him. It had taken finding him again to realize just how much.

Arthur held his breath and waited.

"No, I don't think I am," Merlin said slowly.

Arthur's heart froze. "Why not?"

"You say I was under a spell when I saw you do all those things to me. I think that's very convenient for you," and there was a flash of green, right there, a blemish across his irises. "How do I know what the truth is? Either way, we both know you hurt me. Is torture really all that far from this?" And his hand stroked his scar gently once more. "I don't know who you are anymore, Arthur Pendragon. And I think, somewhere along the way, I lost who I am as well, tied up in the words of a manipulative old lizard. I wanted my life, my _magic," _this said bitterly, a snarl twisting the corner of his mouth, "To mean something. But I don't know if I've found where I belong."

Every word felt like a lead weight in Arthur's chest but he swallowed and nodded heavily, accepting Merlin's decision. He had no idea what Merlin meant by the lizard, dismissing it as meaningless Merlin babble, but he understood the man's lack of trust. It hurt, it bloody _hurt _like knives twisting in his gut, but the scar mocked him with his brutal mistake and he had no idea how deep Nimueh's malevolent seed had wormed into Merlin's psyche. Besides, it was not so long ago he would have felt the same way.

But he had his pride. No matter that he had realized what Merlin meant to him, he would not beg or plead with him to stay. He was a Prince, and Princes did not beg servants to be their friends. Princes were meant to be alone, with no other love then their land and their King. He would have to accept his loss, accept the hollow space in his heart and move on.

He stiffened his spine, drew up his chin and blinked his stinging eyes – _bloody sunlight _– and inclined his head regally to Merlin, who was watching him measuringly.

"Very well," Arthur said stiffly. "I understand your decision."

He turned away, steeling himself for the lonely ride back to Camelot and the long days that lay ahead. He untied his horse, swung himself up onto its back and pulled its head around, gaze fixed firmly on the animal's neck. That chapter of his life was now closed and Arthur forced his thoughts towards the future as he clucked the animal forwards, refusing to wallow in regret. The lessons he had learned, however, would stay with him forever.

He allowed himself one turn in his saddle before the cave disappeared into the forest. He could just see Merlin, standing tall in the same position in which Arthur had left him, and swallowed around the painful lump burning in his throat. Then he plunged into the foliage to leave the warlock behind forever.

Merlin watched the Prince disappear into the undergrowth, a pensive look on his face. He had not expected the savage wrenching at his heart at the hurt he saw in Arthur's eyes as he threw his olive branch back in his face. He had not expected Arthur's grudging submission to his decision to leave, not after the iron control over Merlin's life and breath the Prince he had seen – _believed _– had used to torture and wound.

_"Merlin," _Arthur had said, ever so gently, eyes full of sadness. _"I know you have no reason to believe me, but I am not going to hurt you." _

Nothing was going as he had expected. His mind drifted to the memory of Arthur's arms around him, his voice awkwardly shushing Merlin's cries and his body gently rocking around him, and for the first time he felt doubt gnawing sharply at his insides. He had spoken the truth – things were broken between them. Merlin had lost himself in the lies, the pretense, and the role forced on him by the dragon until he no longer remembered who he had been before Camelot, before _Arthur. _Both of them had betrayed each other so many times over, the anger and pain warping the bond of friendship til it was nigh unrecognizable. But destroyed?

Perhaps not so much as he had thought. Merlin narrowed his eyes and then grinned, gold lighting up his irises.

He said he would leave.

He never said he wouldn't come back.


	9. Chapter 9

_It's finally complete! I would like to thank all of you that have stuck by me in this first labour of love and I hope the ending lived up to your expectations. All your lovely comments have encouraged me and given me the confidence to stick with this story when I was ready to give it up as rubbish and it has been massively appreciated! _

_Love and thanks, Emzaz._

Arthur was released from prison in a week, a sombre and more thoughtful man. Uther had been predictably furious at Arthur's blatant disobedience and had not even appeared to hear his son's explanation, with guards arresting him at the front gates as he rode into Camelot and escorting him directly to the castle dungeons. The guards had been apologetic but Arthur had not resisted; what was the point? He knew what he had done and this time Uther had no-one to punish but his son. Because Arthur had failed.

Riding away from Merlin had been one of the hardest things Arthur had ever done. His friend was weak from starvation and thirst and undoubtedly more than half mad after the torment of the last week and all Arthur's protective instincts had screamed at him as he turned his horse away from the ragged figure. But the cold, logical strategist in him had to acknowledge trying to force Merlin to do anything he did not want to do would undermine all the progress Arthur had established and would likely throw the man back into a trauma loop that would not end well for either of them. Yet Arthur couldn't help but feel he had left a part of him back with his former manservant, and as he rode he was forced to glumly accept the gaping hole in his chest was likely there to stay.

He had had little to do but think in his seven days of incarceration and could not help but second and triple guess all his actions. If he had only been more convincing, more forceful perhaps he could have reached his manservant – but then Merlin would have felt threatened, and then they would have been left in an even worse position. He could hardly believe that only days ago he had seen Merlin only as a liar and traitor, the thought of him eliciting fury and hurt. Now Arthur felt only guilt and sadness and wondered how he had ever contemplated Merlin as an enemy.

Now the tendrils of betrayal had released their hold on his mind he felt more clear-headed then he had in months and the quiet time in his cell gave him unprecedented time to think. People always had demands on him; the knights for training and patrols; his father, for councils, meetings and court; the steward, for castle household matters. Servants knocked on his chambers at all minutes of the day and Arthur never really had any time for _himself_. In the cells his time was limitless and the prince used it to consider some of the unthinking assumptions he had made in the last few months.

And shame was tightening its hold on his insides. He told himself he'd never _really _thought of Merlin as evil, but all he had to remember was the feel of a bloody dagger tight in his hand and the sight of leaving Merlin crying on the forest floor to shatter his desperate denial. Arthur had gone over his every interaction with Merlin obsessively and come to one solid decision – he was an idiot. The number of 'coincidences' and monsters defeated easily over the last year bewildered comprehension, as did the fact he had never even _questioned _these occurrences. He had been so proud, so unwillingly to concede acclaim that he had arrogantly attributed every success to his own abilities, however unlikely. Merlin's presence had never even registered and only now did he recognise the magical hand in so many victories and 'lucky breaks'. The obvious had truly been staring him in the face, and in his own self congratulation he had never even noticed.

In his anger he had wilfully chosen to ignore other obvious things as well. The blinding smiles on Merlin's face in the morning when he got to wake Arthur in the most unpleasant ways possible. The pride shining in his eyes when Arthur was named Crown Prince or defended his people, as if he was Merlin's own prized creation. The twinkle in his eyes as he had mocked and teased the Prince out of his moods at the end of the day. The blind loyalty that had led him to drink poison and follow Arthur into battle, and in the end expose his greatest secret to protect the prince's life.

Was that only Merlin? It seemed ridiculous to assume his bumbling manservant had some kind of special resistance to the evils of magic. But if that were the case, how many of Arthur's lifelong beliefs were untrue? Was there truly such a thing as a good sorcerer?

And the last thought that Arthur desperately tried to suppress but haunted him long after he had been released.

So how many innocents had he killed?

/

Life went on in the usual fashion once Arthur was freed. The official story was that Arthur had been so incensed about the attack on his person he had disobeyed the King's orders to find and battle a sorceress. He had failed to find her but in the process discovered the body of his servant, whose murder clearly demonstrated the evils of magic. As he had lit of pyre for the boy he had reconsidered his rashness and returned to accept his punishment.

The story was generally accepted, although Arthur noticed hard stares from his father from time to time and his movements had become even more restricted, with the number of knights on his patrols doubled and his hunts accompanied by a veritable legion of soldiers. The prince accepted this quietly, as he did the increased scorn and doubt ladled by the King onto on his every word and action. Others in the castle were more sympathetic. Leon had said nothing, merely gripped Arthur's shoulder tightly when he had emerged from the dungeons before leaving him alone. Morgana and Gwen were far more effusive, with Arthur finding himself in the unprecedented situation of an armful of Morgana upon opening her chambers. She seemed to believe he needed comforting, and he patted her back awkwardly before extracting himself and fleeing.

To Gaius he told the truth, and it was the hardest thing he had ever done. The old man had sat patiently as Arthur had stumbled over his words and the physician's feelings only showed in a slight tightening around his eyes as Arthur faltered over his retelling of Merlin's frenzied attack. When the prince finished he stared determinedly at the table in front of him, his knuckles white from the strength with which he had gripped the edge, and waited for Gaius's condemnation. When he felt a soft touch on his arm his nerves were so tight he half jolted out of his seat in shock, jerking up his head to look into the physician's eyes. They were surprisingly sympathetic.

"Thankyou," the man said simply.

Arthur stared at him dumbly.

"For telling me," Gaius qualified. "And...for doing what you could. You did not have to help him."

Arthur couldn't believe his ears. "Help him? It was all my fault! He shouldn't have even _been _there!" He gritted his teeth against another wave of self-recriminations as shame grinded in his stomach.

Gaius's heart softened towards the prince for the first time since Merlin disappeared. He looked so young, hunched over the table and eyes opened wide and beseeching for answers, and was so obviously lost in the new waters he found himself in outside the dam walls of Uther's teachings. He was facing the first real test of thinking for himself and it had come in a brutal form. But his mind was the most open it had ever been and Gaius realised just how important this moment was for Camelot's future, for Merlin and others like him, and for Arthur and the prophesised golden future he would bring.

"My lord," he said, and repeated it as Arthur seemed trapped in his own thoughts. "_My lord. _The fault was not yours. Merlin always valued your life above his own- you were his best friend as well as his prince. You should lay the blame at the feet of the madwoman who attacked you rather than taking it on yourself."

Arthur stared. He couldn't understand Gaius's understanding or the gentleness in his eyes. He had just told him his foster-son had most likely lost his mind while defending Arthur, Arthur who had a few months ago attacked, grievously wounded and banished the man.

"Did you know I used to be a magic-user, sire?" Gaius asked offhandedly. At Arthur's astonished head shake, he shrugged. "I swore to give it up after the Purge, of course. Many of us did. Magic is, of course, merely a tool of the user." Treasonous words, but he prayed Arthur's ears were open to them now.

The Prince's mind was reeling. He didn't know what to make of all the revelations of the last few weeks and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes tiredly. The strategist in him had only one response to his confusion.

"Tell me about him," he ordered shortly. "Tell me everything."

Gaius smiled slightly and obeyed.

/

Yet despite these tumultuous revelations nothing much changed in the Prince's day to day life. He was woken by a maid – he had refused another manservant, and instead the castle staff and armourer looked after his needs – took breakfast in his rooms and left to train the knights. He rode on patrol, sat in on Court, argued with Morgana and dined with his Father.

But the nights were different. At night Arthur lay awake for hours and stared at the ceiling, wrestling with thoughts of magic, the law and justice. Thoughts tumbled in his brain; memories of the past and what to make of the future, the many paths he saw now when before there had only been one. And all the while a pair of blue and gold eyes stared at him accusingly from his mind.

This state of affairs might have continued on indefinitely. Except for the girl.

Her family lived on the very outskirts of Camelot. They were poor, working in the lower town to feed their three children at all hours of the day, the same as hundreds of families in the city. Their youngest child was only seven.

And she was caught using magic as she tried to retrieve her doll from a tree where it had been stashed by bullies. From all reports it had appeared entirely instinctual, the girl as surprised as the rest of her playmates when the toy zoomed into her hand. But intent was irrelevant to the law.

Arthur first learned of her on his way back to his chambers from training as he heard Morgana screeching like a harpy. As he turned the corner past the throne room she almost barrelled into him as she marched out and she stopped and turned her fiery glare onto him.

"And I suppose you think this is perfectly alright as well!" she hissed. "Tell me how the murder of children constitutes _justice, _Arthur Pendragon. Is that what they teach you in your wonderful Knight's Code?"

"Hold on, hold on!" Arthur said, holding his hands up in a peace gesture and taking a step back out of the danger zone. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Morgana's eyes flashed and her mouth formed a thin bitter line. "Uther has just sentenced _another_ child to death, that's what this is about," she snapped. "He thinks she is _evil. _The girl is only seven years old!"

Arthur stared at her, a cold and empty feeling opening up in his chest. "She was magic?" he asked in a hollow voice.

"Used it by accident," Morgana snarled. "And the poor thing was snatched away from her family and is to burn at dawn. This law is _wrong,_" she cried, stamping her foot like a toddler. "If you and Uther won't acknowledge that I will!"

Arthur grabbed her shoulders and shook her harshly once before letting go. "Don't say things like that," he whispered harshly. "Do you want to join her?"

She shook herself as if ridding her body of his touch and stepped away from him, disappointment and frustration in her eyes. "Is that what you are, Arthur Pendragon?" she asked cruelly. "Take a look at yourself. Are you a child killer?"

And she turned on her heel and left him standing alone in hallway, twisted with indecision and shame.

/_

_I don't know who you are anymore, Arthur Pendragon_

_Oh Arthur, you are the spitting copy of Uther, aren't you._

_Is that what you are, Arthur Pendragon?_

_Are you a child killer?_

_He must be so proud of you._

_Take a look at yourself._

_Child killer._

_Killer._

**Killer.**

He found himself down in the cells without remembering ever making the journey. He stood before the cell of the dungeon's newest occupant, listening to the muffled sobs coming from within, and stared sightlessly at the wall. It had all come down to this. All the pain, anger and soul-searching of the past few months had come down to this moment, as Arthur stood in front of a cold prison room and decided the fate of a child. He had said to Merlin that he accepted him, but the words came so easily out in the forest; deep in his heart, was he really ready to reject a lifetime's teachings? Commit treason for someone he didn't even know? Defy his father and the laws, and believe Merlin's and Gaius's claims of the neutrality of magic?

He slid back the bolt and opened the heavy cell door, swinging it backwards and letting a thin ray of light into the dim room. He could see the girl's huddled shape in the corner and it reminded him painfully of Merlin's tortured form in the cave, her thin body shaking as his had as she tried to swallow her sobs. He stepped forward slowly and the shadowed form flinched away.

"Hello," he said as gently as he could. "My name is Arthur."

" 'lo," came a tiny voice.

"Can you come out? I would like to talk to you."

The form seemed to think about it then bobbed briefly in assent. The girl crawled out into the light and Arthur stifled a gasp.

He had heard from Morgana how young the child was but his mind had not really accepted reality until he saw her tiny form. She was so small on standing she would barely reach his _knees_ and finger shaped bruises lined her twig thin arms. Her hair was dirty and hung in matted clumps around her elfin head and her face with covered in dirty tear stains and snot, her lower lip sticking out and quivering. But what really made Arthur recoil were the heavy manacles clasped around her tiny wrists and the thick chains tethering her to the dungeon walls. The image was obscene. Arthur had been raised to recognise right and wrong, and this, _this _was wrong!

His beliefs crumbled around his ears as the child blinked at him with pupils blown wide with terror, her body shaking like a leaf as she poised to run back to her corner. Arthur barely acknowledged the huge shift in his world view as he crouched to bring his face down to her level.

"My name is Arthur," he repeated. "What is yours?"

The girl peeked at him from underneath her lashes. "Mina," she squeaked softly.

"It's nice to meet you Mina," Arthur said, meaning every word, and held out his arms. She stared at him and the comfort he offered, fear and misery warring her in her expression as he continued to hold out his arms. Whatever was in his face must have convinced her, for at last the child hurled herself into his arms and Mina began to sob in earnest, clutching his jerkin and burying her face in his shoulder. He clasped her gently and rocked her back and forth, an unfamiliar warmth growing in his chest.

"It's okay Mina," he whispered. "It's all going to be okay."

/

Arthur rubbed his eyes tiredly and stared into the fire. It was getting harder and harder to sneak magic-users out of the castle, the breakouts making Uther more paranoid than ever and he doubled and tripled the guard. Madness clearly danced in the King's eyes these days and his hand fell even harder on populace as he saw magic-users under every stone. Arthur wondered how he had never seen it before and in his darkest hours wondered if, pre-Merlin, he would have been out there, executing innocents on the order of a madman.

Fortunately his city ring had grown as sympathisers spread and the news was spread from door-to-door. _The Prince is not like his father!_ they whispered. To Arthur's astonishment even many of the knights had come to him to offer their support. Arthur feared for the day word came to Uther of his son's treason, but more knights joined him by the day and now he could not walk through the city without being besieged by cheers and women giving him flowers and shy smiles. It made him uneasy while his father still ruled but he acknowledged in his heart of hearts that things could not continue as they were for long. Soon the people would have had enough of his father's autocratic rule. And then he would be King.

Mina had been the first he had broken out, smuggling her out of the castle under cover of darkness and returning her to her desperately grateful family, who had showered him with thanks and tears. Resettling them and getting people out of Camelot had been beyond Arthur at first and he had had to trust in them to escape by themselves, until a ring had sprung up in the city governed by someone called Emrys. He never saw the secretive group but he or one of his knights would leave the escapees at safe houses throughout the city and leave messages of those coming under suspicion.

It was hard, and his heart burned within him sometimes as he betrayed his father over and over again. But during the day all he had to do was think of Mina hugging him and laughing as he kissed her cheek for goodbye to remember why he persevered. And at night he still woke panting, haunted by a pair of weeping golden eyes.

His window suddenly slammed, breaking him out of his thoughts, and Arthur looked up in exasperation. It was late fall and the air was already bitingly chilly and it appeared the useless servants had failed to secure his windows properly again. He stomped over and slammed them shut, fastening them tightly before turning back towards the fire.

Merlin stood in front of him.

Arthur gaped, opening and shutting his mouth soundlessly in shock. A dark silhouette against the flames, Merlin smiled slightly at his discomfort and raised his chin in challenge as gold bled out of his irises.

The warlock was nearly unrecognisable from the wreck Arthur had left by the cavemouth all those weeks ago. His stance was confident and relaxed, with whipcord muscle hinted at by his fine black skin-tight tunic and the red and gold cloak falling from his shoulders. His half-smile was on a lightly bearded jaw, making him appear older and hinting at the man he would become. But his face – his face was the real shock. The swollen gash that had so disfigured him had faded into a thin white line across the skin. It was no longer marring; in fact, Arthur thought privately, it gave him a bit of a rakish air, adding character to his bony features. In short, he looked amazing. He looked like the powerful sorcerer that he was.

"You!" Arthur choked out eventually, his brain penetrating the shock of seeing his friend _here, _the friend he had thought he would never see again. "_You're _Emrys!"

Merlin looked amused. "How else would I be able to keep tabs on you?" he drawled.

That was something else new, Arthur catalogued semi-hysterically. _His-_Merlin had never had the confidence to use that kind of tone. Or the overt power behind it.

"I didn't think...I thought you'd left," Arthur said, aiming for accusing but coming out more plaintive.

Merlin's face turned grave. "I wasn't sure," he admitted. "Everything was so...broken between us. But...I wasn't sure. I thought I'd wait, and watch. And then I saw what you were doing and I had to come and help." The smile that spread across his face was soft. "And...I have never loved you so much. My king."

He fell to one knee and held up a hand to Arthur. "Will you accept my oath of fealty, my lord?"

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, staring at the warlock in front of him. A bubble of happiness rose up inside him and he fought the urge to burst into a silly grin.

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," he said gruffly. A stricken look crossed the other man's face until Arthur stepped forward, grabbed his hand and pulled him up roughly into an embrace.

"You're my friend," he said hoarsely into Merlin's shoulder. "And I don't need anything more than that."

Merlin's arms rose tentatively to Arthur's back. Unnoticed by them both, an ugly green cloud seeped out of the warlock's skin, hovering for a moment as Arthur whispered how much he had missed Merlin into the man's ear. It twisted as if under a great pressure, before exploding soundlessly and dissipating into the air. As it disappeared Merlin gave a great sigh as if a heavy weight had been lifted and buried his face in his king's tunic.

And his arms tightened like they would never let go.

/

**EPILOGUE**

"What's this?" Merlin asked curiously at the box Arthur had pressed into his hand.

The Prince shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Open it," he urged.

Merlin gave him a bemused look and obeyed, undoing the string and lifting the lid to find a steel chain and pendant. He lifted out the pendant to find the Pendragon symbol, emblazoned with an 'A.'

"It's a version of my seal," Arthur muttered to the floor.

"This...this is lovely Arthur," Merlin said, lifting the chain over his head. "Is there a reason?"

Arthur looked decided uncomfortable at the question. "Um," he said intelligently. "You remember...when...," he said, gesturing at Merlin's face.

"Yes," the other man said tightly. Their friendship had been rekindled by leaps and bounds but some emotional wounds still lingered, and Arthur generally dealt with it the way he dealt with all feelings – pretending they didn't exist. Merlin wondered why the prince felt the need to dig this up now.

"And you know, as you were in my household, I held onto the dagger?"

"Oh," Merlin said wonderingly, realising, his hand rising to clasp the pendant.

"I just...I had it melted down, and well. For you." Arthur raised his eyes to Merlin's, and the warlock read the pain and the apology there that Arthur would always carry with him. Giving up on speech, the prince clasped Merlin's shoulder and clapped him on the back awkwardly.

Merlin's heart swelled in his chest and as he admired the gift he sent a silent apology to the dragon for his former doubts. Their destiny lay before them, the path clear for the first time.

And it would be great.


End file.
